


The Christmas Plague

by Jazz_13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Drinking, Mycroft Holmes - Freeform, Romance, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:10:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15191510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazz_13/pseuds/Jazz_13
Summary: My flight has been cancelled on Christmas Eve and I turn to my boss Mycroft for help.





	The Christmas Plague

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Mycroft fic. I hope it's alright, just had to scribble something about him :D

My whole body was shivering as my rigid fingers were clinging onto the emergency whiskey bottle, while attempting to ring the doorbell. I sincerely hoped he was at home, since I wouldn’t be able to catch a taxi in that forsaken area of the town on Christmas Eve. The snowflakes began multiplying and thickening, painting the ground white. I could feel my nose going number and redder. I finally managed to press the ancient button, and the old-fashioned doorbell sound echoed through the quiet house. I couldn’t see any lights on. As a matter of fact, the house seemed pretty much abandoned, but in a groomed kind of way.  
He was really devoid of all human and trivial. How very boring of him.  
I pressed the button again, this time with my nose. The heavy bag was beginning to weigh me down, and I had to drop it on the wet doorstep. Finally, I head approaching footsteps. If my hearing wasn’t deceiving me, they were rather wary and slow. C’mon, Mycroft, I’m no big bad wolf.  
But I was about to turn into one, if he wasn’t going to let me in.  
“Don’t bother with the peephole, Sir, it’s just me,” I croaked impatiently, as I heard him move the tap. It took him a few more moments to ponder on my word, and, at last, the door creaked open.  
I did my best to contain snorting, as the man revealed himself to me. I was so used to seeing him all spruced up, in a three-piece suit, everything always neat and clean and in place, that it took everything in me to greet him as normally as possible. His expensive clothing was exchanged for a comfortable, worn-out pair of jeans and an actual Christmas pullover. Mycroft – in a Christmas pullover! What a sight.  
I was suddenly very glad my flight had been cancelled as I wouldn’t want to miss that for the world.  
“Well, erm. Hello, Sir. I …”  
“… came here because your flight has been cancelled?” he finished my sentence knowingly.  
Let a girl finish her sentence, for God’s sake. But since I needed a place to stay, I had to be on my best behaviour.  
“Indeed. I was wondering …” I started, suddenly feeling sheepish. I was, after all, standing in front of my boss’s house, asking him to let me stay. And on Christmas Eve! Well, this was awkward, even though, we were technically a sort of friends on the side of work. Well, maybe not exactly friends, but my presence didn’t bother him as much as it usually did with other people. I felt the same.  
“… if you could spend the night?” he completed my sentence again, this time accompanying it with a mischievous smile. My, my, it really was Christmas.  
“If it’s not too much trouble,” I replied, as sweetly as possible. To make a stronger case, I held up the whiskey bottle I had bought at the airport duty-free shop.  
He took it from my hands, flipped it around, checking the label carefully. I gulped, not knowing whether my survival really did depend on the quality of the darned whiskey. I had simply grabbed the most expensive one, hoping for the best.  
“Mm, yes,” he murmured, as if fully immersed in thought. At that point I was certain he was just teasing me. Somebody was in high spirits. “It will do for the night. Do come in, it’s freezing outside.”  
Without further ado, I grabbed my bad, and scuttled inside. “I truly hope I am not imposing too severely on your night. I know it’s slightly inappropriate, but I didn’t know who else to turn to on such short notice.” I was babbling away while discarding my shoes, trying to find a spot where they wouldn’t ruin the carpet with all the dripping.  
“Let me see to those,” Mycroft offered kindly, taking the shoes and putting them away. He then stepped behind me, taking my coat, and hanging in on the rack.  
“Thank you.”  
“No problem,” he replied, feeling more relaxed than I had ever had the chance of seeing him. A man’s home is his castle, they say. And he certainly bore the air of a king. “As to your previous concerns, no, you are not imposing on my evening. Christmas holds no special meaning for me. I just do my best to keep myself safe from all the cheerfulness that spreads throughout the town like a plague.”   
Of course he would compare the Christmas spirit to a plague.   
“Right. The plague,” I commented vaguely, rolling my eyes behind his back as I followed him to the sitting room. I encountered a rather sad scene that even Dickens wouldn’t be opposed to including into one of his novels. The only source of light was the fireplace, in front of which sat two cosy armchairs, with a club table in between. On it laid a single crystal glass. Whiskey was a good choice of a present, after all.  
“May I offer you a drink?” he asked, leading me to one of the armchairs.  
“Certainly, whatever you’re having.” I plunged into the armchair, my hands automatically reaching out towards the fireplace. Actually, with two people present, the room seemed more homey and welcoming. The fireplace was emitting the much needed heat to help my body warm up after the time spent out in the freezing cold. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, letting the atmosphere wash over me.   
Mycroft poured me a glass of his favourite brandy, and sat down on the remaining chair. “I hope you will find it to your liking,” he said, raising his glass towards me. We clinked the crystal lightly, before helping ourselves to a sip of the auburn liquid. As expected, the drink burned my throat, before reaching my stomach. However, the warming feeling that spread through my veins afterwards was worth the burn. I realized why that was his drink of choice. He was, after all, the Ice Man. Surely, the cold would sometimes be too difficult to bear.   
“Not too bad,” I nodded, before cautiously taking another sip. I could get used to it, I guess. Especially to the aftereffect.   
His face contorted slightly in disbelief, but he held himself back. “Yes. Not too bad.” He quickly took another sip not to comment on my lack of appreciation of such a fine bottle of brandy.   
“Sorry,” I said, smiling, “my tongue is not very skilled when it comes to expensive drinks. I’m more of a white wine or beer kind of girl.” I then realized I had been explaining my tongue skills to my boss. My cheeks began to radiate a little, and it wasn’t the alcohol’s fault.  
Mycroft kept his gaze fixed on the orange light of the fireplace, but I caught the corners of his lips turn upwards ever so slightly. His mind was too sharp sometimes, you couldn’t hide anything from him. However, that was also one of his strongest charms. His brain.  
“I like your pullover, by the way. Did you make it yourself?” Even the notion of it seemed ridiculous. Shut up, please, I thought to myself, desperately. But the brandy seemed to be slowly dissolving my speech filter.  
For the first time, Mycroft seemed slightly flustered. He didn’t look at me as he responded, “God, no. Mummy … I mean, Mother had made it for me many years before.” He hastily finished his drink, getting up for a refill.  
“Well, it’s lovely,” I said, grinning widely. “You should have worn it to work yesterday.”  
He turned to me with his best threatening face. “We are not amused.”  
“What do you mean, we?” I said with a straight face, feigning confusion.  
“Lord,” he sighed, dragging himself back into the armchair. “You see, the we in this case does not represent a multitude of …” The sentence was cut off as he caught a glimpse of my face. I was squeezing my lips together in order to stop myself from laughing out loud. I loved teasing him like that. Especially when he was in a not-so-serious mood. Of course, he realized I was messing with him, and he pouted, facing the other way.  
“You’re mocking me,” he said flatly.  
“Just a tad.” I hoped my tone was more apologetic that I had felt. He needed some teasing. Not everything has to be so strict all the time, right?  
“I shall let it slide, since it’s Christmas and all that bollocks.” He turned back to me, a faint smile resting on his lips. “Pardon my French.”  
“But you weren’t speaking French.”  
He took a deep breath, his thumb and forefinger resting on the bridge of his prominent hawk-like nose. I knew I was pushing my luck, but I couldn’t help myself. It was just too much fun and I was just too tipsy to worry.  
Surprisingly, so was he. He must’ve been, as he didn’t scold me, he just flashed me another smile, this one almost reaching his eyes. It seemed as if he was determined to use up the entire yearly smiles quota on this one night. Fine by me. It was quite a sight, to be honest. Rarer than the blue moon, and certainly more mesmerising.  
That was one strong drink he gave me.  
“Refill?”  
“Yes, please.”  
In a similar manner, the hours dragged on. The outside world had turned entirely white with the incessant snowfall, and we were safely tucked inside, in comfortable chairs, in front of a warm fireplace. Who knew Christmas with Mycroft could be such a pleasant experience.  
“You sound surprised.”  
Whoops. The last thought must’ve slipped past my lips unintentionally.  
“Well, sort of. I mean. You’re not exactly the Christmas spirit personified. I vaguely remember you comparing Christmas to plague.”  
He pursed his lips, thinking. Or maybe he was just ready to call it a night. After a minute or so, he murmured, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” His eyes were fixed on the fire again, and his mind seemed to have wandered off somewhere I wasn’t invited. That man was really an enigma. I couldn’t truly figure him out, no matter how hard I tried. I don’t even know why I wanted to do it. There was just something akin to a magnet field around him, drawing me closer whenever I took a step back.  
I was so engrossed in my observation that I hadn’t paid attention to my fingers wrapped around the crystal glass, slowly loosening the pressure around it. In the next second, the glass slipped out of my hand, hit my knee, and dropped to the floor. The clashing sound snapped Mycroft out of his thinking mist, pushing him onto his feet faster than I had ever seen him. The floor in front of the fireplace was covered in tiny brandy puddles and shards of glass. The orange fire light created an illusion of pools of blood and shiny little snowflakes. It was almost beautiful.  
“I-I’m sorry, Myc…Sir. So sorry …” I stuttered, while slipping off the armchair, onto the floor. “I hope the glass wasn’t too expensive or special or …”  
“Don’t be silly. Show me your hands,” he breathed, gently taking my wrists between his slender fingers. “And do get up, you’ll hurt yourself.” He then carefully inspected my hands, a hint of disapproval ghosting on his face.  
I felt bad for making a mess in his pristine house, dropping my chin to my chest like child being scolded. “Again, I’m sorry. I will clean it up, I promise,” I mumbled guiltily.  
He sighed loudly, tracing his fingers across the soft flesh of my forearm, leaving behind a tingly trail. I tried to ignore the sensation his touch was causing, averting my eyes.  
“Ouch,” I yelped, twitching, when he suddenly picked at my arm.  
“Just as I had suspected,” he announced with a serious face. He raised his hand, displaying a shard of glass between his fingers. It had some blood on it. “The little piece was stuck in your arm. We must see to it immediately. Follow me.” He carefully stepped out of the mess, gently pulling me into his study next door.  
“I must have something of use around here,” he mumbled, not entirely convinced. He began opening random drawers, and I took the opportunity to look around the room. It was spacious, and mostly covered in dark cherry wood and burgundy velvet. Just the type of study you would expect from the de facto leader of Britain. The corner was occupied by a proper silver piece of armour. Instead of a sword, it was holding an umbrella.  
I need to rethink Mycroft’s kindness the next time it rains.  
“Will this do?” My eyes travelled back to the man in question. His right hand was in his pants’ pocket, and the left one was extended towards me, offering a roll of cotton bandage.  
“Erm …”  
He frowned at my hesitation. “Do you wish for something else?”  
“Actually, just a normal plaster will do. It’s just a small cut.” I smiled, trying to show him how small of a deal the whole ‘accident’ was. While he browsed through the cabinet by the wall, I took a better look at the wound the glass had left behind. It wasn’t a big cut, but it was a pretty deep one. Whoops. “And maybe some alcohol with that.”  
“Haven’t you had enough by now?” he replied in a serious tone.  
“I mean, not for me, for the wound. You know … The disinfecting type of alcohol?” His expression remained the same. “No, seriously, I don’t want to drink it, I just …” Then, the corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly. Now he was the one messing with me. “Ok, I earned that one,” I admitted reluctantly.  
Mycroft smiled, and finally dug out a box with plasters. Noticing they had dinosaurs on them, I tried to stifle a chuckle.  
He eyed me suspiciously while handing me a small plain bottle of the disinfectant. “The plasters were a gift from my dear brother. A joke, more like it.”  
“Sure, sure, I said nothing- Ouch,” I squeaked, when the alcohol-infused pad got in contact with the wound. Son of a … “I’m okay, I’m okay,” I reassured the worried man through gritted teeth. He worries way too much for his own good. I quickly put on the dino plaster, and cleared out the mess. “Thank you.”  
“Oh, it’s nothing. Are you sure you’re alright?” His grey blue eyes bore into mine, making me all flustered again.  
“Erm, yeah, I mean yes, yes. I’m sure.” With that, I scurried towards the door, and out of the room. I needed to pull myself together. That was hard, though, considering all the glasses of brandy I’ve had. My limbs suddenly felt very heavy, and I dropped onto the sofa in the middle of the room.  
Mycroft followed me after a minute or two, closing the door to his study. “Do you want to watch the telly?” he suggested awkwardly, not sure what to do with himself or with me, for that matter.  
“Why not,” I shrugged, holding back a deep yawn. Mycroft sat next to me, turning on the television. He went through a couple of programmes, before settling for an unknown black and white movie.  
“Is that alright with you?” he inquired politely. He was back to his tense and formal self.  
“Yes, of course.” My hands were in my lap and I apparently forgot how to sit. I tried to ignore the faint cologne scent coming from my right, focusing my eyes on the screen. This is nice and relaxed. I’m just imagining the uncomfortable atmosphere between us.  
After a while, I loosened up a bit and leaned properly into the sofa, daring to pull my feet on it. I snuck a peek with the corner of my eye to see if the action would be accompanied with any signs of disapproval on his side. But he kept his eyes locked on the screen, refusing to look my way.  
It didn’t take long for me to doze off. I could feel my eyes closing without my consent, the tension draining out of me. My head dropped to the right, taking the whole body with it …  
When I opened my eyes, the room was much darker than before. The TV was off and there wasn’t a single sound to be heard. The fire was slowly dying down, leaving the room in semi-darkness. The windows were illuminated by the reflection of moonlight in the snow. It took me a moment to concentrate and realize where I was and what day it was.  
Then, my pillow moved, and I jumped up.  
Apparently, I’ve been sleeping with my head in Mycroft’s lap. Before I could come up with any sort of apology, he stopped me. “There’s no need to worry. You simply needed to rest your eyes for a while.”  
I could feel the heat rising in my stiff neck. “Still, I apologize. I-I didn’t realize I was … Erm …”  
“Laying your head in my lap?” he kindly finished off my sentence yet again.  
“That, yes. And what a shame I missed the movie, I haven’t seen it yet.” I was just babbling, to avoid the awkward silence. I took a freaking nap in my boss’s lap!  
He probably knew what I was trying to do, and nonetheless, he went along with it. “Oh, the film is wonderful. I have it in my private collection, so I can lend it to you, if you wish.”  
“Or, I could simply download it,” I said, regaining my posture. “Legally, of course,” I added quickly.  
He chuckled, a proper voiced chuckle. “You’re quite something, you know?” His head turned around to make his eyes meet mine. A breath got hitched in my throat, and I could feel my heart beating faster. What was he doing? Did he know how much his words and closeness affected me?  
Judging by the intensity of his gawking, I had to assume he did. I tried to say something witty to ease the tension, but my mind was drawing a blank. “Thank you,” was all I could muster. He didn’t say anything, but kept his eyes on me. Suddenly, I felt a light brush of his fingers across my hand. My heart was banging against my ribcage.  
Was it all a dream?  
And yet, I knew his touch felt too real to be nothing more than a dream. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, gently pulling me closer. He traced them up my arm, to the spot where a dinosaur was covering the wound. He sighed, lowered his head, and planted a faint kiss to the plastered patch of skin. “You need to be more careful,” he breathed quietly. He then placed another kiss to the side of the wounded area. And another one on the elbow. And another one on the upper arm. And another one on the shoulder. His hot breath was leaving behind a blazing trail. I could barely breathe when he laid his right hand at the back of my neck, pulling me even closer, dragging his moist lips from my exposed collarbone all the way up to my jaw. I placed my hand on his thigh, the urge to have him right then and there threatening to explode at any moment. Oh, Mycroft, what have you done to me?  
He, too, seemed impatient, as his shallow breathing was now at my mouth. He brought his right hand to my cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “Will you be more careful?” he whispered, his voice raspy from the need. I slowly shook my head. “Not tonight.”  
With those words I leaned forward, my hungry lips finding his in an instant. They were soft, and wet, and welcoming. We would only savour our first kiss for a few short moments, before it all became a hot mess. Tongues and teeth were clashing, while soft moans and grunts were filling the room. His hands were suddenly everywhere, tracing my curves, in my hair, down my back. When he reached my butt, I couldn’t hold myself back any longer, and I lunged onto his lap, pinning him to the sofa. His groans became louder and he seemed to have lost all control when I began swaying hips back and forth, grinding my crotch against his growing bulge. The feeling was incredible.  
“Fuck.” I couldn’t help but cuss under my breath. I was already falling apart.  
“Bad girl,” grunted Mycroft with hooded lids, bringing his lips to my ear. “Very, very naughty.” With those words, he squeezed my butt really hard, making me gasp for air. It was only a matter of seconds now …  
“You like that?” he growled. Before I could answer, he fondled my ass again, with lips on my neck, and I was gone.  
The orgasm shot through my body like an electric shock, and I ground my hips into his, arching my back and holding onto his shoulders for dear life. The moans were spilling past my lips like an ode. His hands were at my back, steadying me in place while I was coming back to my senses.  
I rested my head in the nook of his neck, collecting breath and calming my heartbeat. I couldn’t and didn’t want to think. I just wanted to stay in the moment, taking in his scent, his own raging heartbeat, his hands at my back.  
He kissed the top of my head, smiling. “Well, I believe you aren’t the quiet one, after all.” I laughed, slowly lifting my eyes to him. I couldn’t really believe what had just happened. And yet, there was something very hard and prominent under me that required my immediate and undivided attention.  
“Let’s waste no time, shall we?” I smirked, and got off the sofa. Slowly, I unzipped my jeans, and drew the material down my legs. I loved the way he was ogling me, with almost a scary glint in his eyes. Like he was a predator and I, his prey.   
When I hooked my fingers at the seam of my panties, he covered my fingers with his. “Allow me.” He grinned at me devilishly, and then discarded of my panties, painfully slowly. It felt as if he was taking in every inch of my skin. He seemed even hungrier than before, when his lips latched onto my bared sex. He was taking in my folds, skilfully moving his tongue all around and in between them. When he hit the spot, I bit down a cry of pleasure and pain, as the nub was still very sensitive from all the stimulation, and dug my fingers into his hair. “Oh, god.”  
His tongue was now at my entrance, and he slowly dragged it up to my clit, while entering me with two fingers. Automatically, my walls tensed around his digits, wanting to be completely filled. My hips bucked forward as I pleaded, “More.”  
“Is this not enough for you?” he murmured, still pumping his two fingers in and out of me. He was good at this game.  
“N-not really,” I whimpered, pulling his head to my womanhood.  
“Greedy, greedy girl,” he said, feigning disapproval. “Then do as you please.” He pulled his two fingers out of me, placing one last kiss on my pulsating core, and stood up. He was so tall. I couldn’t help but admire him for a second, and then stepped on my toes to plant a short kiss on his lips. However, he had been on the verge for a while, and a peck wouldn’t do. He grabbed my face, keeping my lips on his, his tongue entering my mouth demandingly. He pressed his throbbing bulge into me, and while our lips and tongues were working their magic, I placed my right hand on his hardness, stroking it gently. He grunted into my mouth, signalling he wanted and needed more than that. I pressed my palm a little harder against him, my strokes becoming faster and faster. That was enough for him to tear off my blouse, cupping my covered breasts with his large hands. While he was working his way under my bra, I unbuckled and unzipped his pants, dropping them at his ankles. The kiss broke momentarily as I pulled the Christmas sweater over his head, along with the undershirt. The only item left were his silk boxers. The material was so smooth under my fingers, and I let myself enjoy the feeling of his hard cock under it for a few moments. “I can’t stand it much longer,” he groaned, unbuckling my bra, and chucking it away carelessly. Who knew he could stand such a mess.  
“Understood … Sir,” I purred, finally getting rid of the boxers, letting his dick spring free. It was literally oozing with desire, and I licked my lips at the sight of it. “Right away, Sir.” I dropped to my knees, immediately covering the wet tip with my tongue, licking the precum away. Then, I deliberately took him in my mouth, ever so slowly, while locking my eyes with his. His expression was out of this world. It was such a sight, as I finally got to see him being a … well … a hot mess. His lips were parted, his breathing ragged, hair all over the place. And his stare was merciless. I wouldn’t want to tease him too severely. So I took him in, completely, inch by inch. My eyes were teary and I was gagging, but the reward was priceless. His head was thrown back and his hands were in my hair, urging me to move. I began bobbing my head, slowly at first, and then picking up the pace. I was willing to do anything, just to elicit those delicious moans and grunts from him. I wanted to see him fall apart because of me.  
Apparently, I got carried away, as at one point, he grabbed my hair, and pulled me away. He was almost shaking, as he sat back down on the sofa, pulling me on top of him. He wiped away the tears streaming down my cheeks, and gave me a soft kiss. I positioned myself above his cock, carefully leading him in. I had to bite down on my lip or I would scream every cuss word in the dictionary. He filled me up perfectly, stretching my walls, making it hard to catch my breath. For a second, we stayed still, both trying to retain some of our senses. Then, I started moving. Faster and faster. I felt him everywhere. I wanted more and more of him. I was moving back and forth with an erratic pace, leaving us both short of breath. I could feel he was very, very close, as he clenched his jaw, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of my waist.  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  
“Bad. Girl.” His breathing was heavy, and he was so close to the edge, and yet he still managed to punish me for my foul mouth by spanking me lightly. That only spurred me on.  
“You like it when I’m bad,” I whined, grabbing the back of his neck for support, my forehead leaning against his. My forefinger was pressing into my clit for additional stimulation, and I was diving towards my second climax.  
Mycroft grabbed my hips even more firmly, making it very difficult to move. “You’re getting rather cocky,” he announced, smirking. “Maybe you need a proper lesson.”  
He held me up, so only his tip was teasing at my entrance. The lack of proper contact was insufferable. “Please,” I breathed urgency evident in my voice. I tried to wiggle my hips, but it didn’t help. He was surprisingly strong for someone who detests leg work so passionately.  
“Behave,” he warned. He waited out a few moments, and as I obeyed him by staying still, he slowly entered me again. But only half way, before pulling out again. He repeated this a few times, and I was about to cry or go mad. Or both.  
“Mycroft,” I growled.  
He raised his eyebrow. “Sir.”  
“Better.” He finally dropped my hips just enough to cover his cock entirely. And he stayed that way. I thought I was going to lose it as my climax kept getting closer and then further away.  
Suddenly, he sunk into the sofa, and then slammed back up, leaving me gasping for air and some sense. “Much better,” he mumbled, barely containing himself now. His hips began snapping up at a faster pace, slamming into me relentlessly. As his grip loosened, I began following his rhythm, meeting his hips half way. In no time, we were both moaning messes, praying for sweet release.  
Our prayers were answered shortly after. With one final thrust, he spilled himself into me, while I was on another rollercoaster ride of inner explosions. We held each other tightly, breathing short and shallow, while sweat was trickling down our faces. Satisfied but exhausted I leaned onto Mycroft’s shoulder, my arms coming around his heated torso.  
We stayed like that for a few minutes, and I was beginning to doze off again.  
“Come, we should clean ourselves up,” he whispered, helping me to my feet. Both still in the nude, we sleepily made our way to the bathroom to take a shower. Fortunately, I was too out of it to realise the absurdity of the whole evening. I just went along with it, and it felt right.  
Later, Mycroft led me to his bedroom, lending me one of his pyjamas, and laying me down into his enormous bed. The sheets were fresh and soft, and it felt like I was lying on top of a cloud. The man gently kissed my lips, bid me good night, and headed for the door.  
“Where are you going?” I mumbled with the last ounce of consciousness.  
He stopped in his way and looked back towards the bed. “Well, I wasn’t quite certain what follows … Maybe you’d prefer some alone time.”  
“Well, your deduction is utterly misguided. I would much rather you’d come into bed and sleep with me. For real, this time.”  
“For real?” he repeated, the words rolling out with a taste of disdain.  
“Yes, Mycroft, for real,” I said firmly, pulling back the blanket. He hesitated for a moment, and then finally gave in. He crawled into the bed, and I turned my back to him, hoping he would know what to do next.  
Luckily, he wasn’t as inexperienced in such matters, and he wrapped me into his arms, pressing his chest to my back.  
“Good night, Sir. Merry Christmas.”  
“Merry Christmas,” he whispered, almost inaudibly.  
The snowflakes kept falling and falling, burying the ground under a heavy white blanket, while we laid there, sound asleep.


End file.
